Verre Avec Moi
by helladella
Summary: An AU starting with Edith's first visit to the Sketch offices, exploring her experiences as she finds love after Michael.
1. Filandre

_Filandre, Gossamer_

She was the first person Edith met at the _Sketch_ office, small and plain but awaiting her arrival with inexplicable excitement. She led her through the busy workplace to the editor's office before returning to her desk just outside his door. At the time, the secretary had been a detail folded into the fabric of new information. A new job. A new way of living. A new person she should have paid attention to, if only to brighten the memory of that day.

After the meeting, she again led Edith to her destination. It was the last time she needed to do so – surely Edith was not so stupid she couldn't find her own way now – but as inexplicable as the excitement, she found herself by Edith's side each time the woman moved about the building. She arrived, the secretary was there, and her presence grew to be expected. They walked together and with each step a thread was wound, creating a rope to bind the two in a wordless friendship. Wordless until a question was asked. Her name.

It was Russell. Louise Russell.

Louise had been born to a large family in London that was as poor as dirt, owning nothing but the shirts on their backs and the sparse furnishings of one room. Several of her siblings had died before they reached the revolting embrace of adulthood, but Louise (the baby by nearly ten years) had thrived in a household that seeped gentle hugs and warm words. Her father broke his back day after day at the docks, and her mother sewed until her fingers bled. Day after day, without fail. Each morning the children were roused and sent to school stumbling on legs still waking with nothing in their stomachs but biting hunger and a mouthful of porridge. The Russells were determined their children lead better lives than they themselves. Louise was twenty-two years old and had wanted to be a writer from the moment she first picked up a pen. So, naturally, she became a secretary.

All of this was learned through miles of easy conversation. Louise's story unfolded before her, urged on with subtle, polite questions. And in return, Edith reciprocated with her own story. How she had always lived in the shadow of her elder sister. How her first love had drowned in the icy Atlantic, returning years later with a new voice and scarred face, only to disappear again. How her second love had shoved her away before anything was allowed to begin. How she had drawn him back and he had left her in the dust, standing forgotten at the altar. Edith told Louise things she dared not whisper a word of to any of her family. The farmer that had kissed her and told her she should be a writer. The nudging feeling that she would soon be adding a third love to her list, one whose office she had been visiting. Louise confided in her similarly, the secrets tumbling from her lips with little trepidation. They were friends now. True friends. Edith could almost laugh at how pitiful the situation was – to not have friend until one was almost 30 years of age. But at least Edith had Louise, and Louise had Edith. And it was enough.

* * *

Two months- really only four visits after the first, Edith invited her to tea. Louise picked the place, Edith offered to pay. It was modest to one, grand to the other. Three o'clock, two days later.

Two chairs in a crowded tearoom.

One occupied, one glaringly empty.

Wilting flowers. A feeling of being overdressed.

Another glance at the clock. Another minute she sat alone, totalling sixteen.

A fluttering stomach, a cup being turned round and round in its saucer.

Another glance. 17.

_Maybe she's not coming._

Another turn. 18.

_Maybe she's lost._

Another glance. 19.

_Maybe she forgot._

Another turn.

Twenty.

_Maybe–_ And suddenly she was there, the fresh air falling off her shoulders like smoke and pooling in the path she carved to their table.

"Sorry… Michael," the words tripped from her mouth in a messy explanation.

"It's alright." She felt too loud and too tall. Too _there_. She wanted to slide herself under the table and disappear, like a magic trick. She didn't, of course. But she wanted to.

A pot of tea was brought, throats cleared, sandwiches nibbled, tea stirred, throats cleared again. And finally, a word offered. "Hello," it fell from her lips and lay, shivering between them, cold and lonely.

"Hello." A cracked smile, and the word was dropped a companion. There was a shift in the air, a minute, imperceptible shift. What had been stinging nervous energy melted into something electric and nearly tangible that wove itself around the two women, clinging to them like gossamer.

* * *

That table in that tearoom at that time was stapled onto every other Thursday. For two hours (sometimes more), they would sit and drink. They would never be late, and they would not leave early. They would talk. When Louise's mother set down her needle to lay on her deathbed, they talked. When seas stormy with change rocked Downton, they talked. When Mrs. Russell was abandoned in the unforgiving depths of the earth, they talked. When Michael asked Edith to dinner, they talked. When Louise was promoted and given a column, they talked.

The afternoon meetings were blinding stars strewn across the black expanse of the days that lay between. They could have carried on like that indefinitely, if it were not for one night and a cruel white piece of paper.

* * *

_Author's Note: This is just the beginning. Barely 1,000 words. I can make no promises as to when or how this story with a shitty cliché title will progress, I can only pray that it will. I can tell you that it won't be for at least a week. I can tell you that the next chapter is unwritten. I can tell you that the only outline exists within my head. Please have faith in me. I wouldn't have posted, but the bubbling excitement of a story you've been thinking about for _weeks_ finally being put into words was to much to resist. Sorry._

_p.s. The title is French for _Drink With Me

_UPDATE: An amazing beta team was formed since I posted this chapter, and while I needed their help predominantly on the next chapter (tomorrow!), they also had some input for this one, which I have taken and updated. Don't worry about reading it all again, though, it was just grammar stuff ;)_

_I'll see you all tomorrow(!),_

_helladella_


	2. Espoir

_A bit of a warning before we begin. This story does indeed have a T rating, but there is a small, non-explicit, necessary sex scene. If you have an issue with this/ don't want to read it, it's the fourth paragraph down. Send me a PM, and I'll hook you up with the information needed to understand the gist of it without any of the y'know, _sex. _This is the only chapter in the foreseeable future in which there will be anything like this._

_Enjoy the chapter._

* * *

**_Espoir–Hope_**

One night and a cruel white piece of paper. The disruption of Edith and Louise's paradise. They're related, the night and the paper, cause and effect. The latter could not exist without the former, and the former? Well, it was always leading to the latter.

Mr. Michael Gregson and Lady Edith Crawley. A relationship budding against societal convention. A relationship that was doomed to never become husband and wife, only lovers. However much she might want it, marriage wasn't within her grasp. For her, it was a less than ideal situation. It was perfect for him, though. He had his cake and got to eat it, too, and when he decided he was full, the leftovers could be tossed aside without a second glance. And that was that. Or, that would have been that if not for _the_ night. Their first night together.

His plan had always been to get her to sleep with him, and when she decided to stay, he was, as expected, pleased with himself. He now had a lover he didn't have to pay for, one naive enough to be manipulated easily. Everything was going according to plan until the lovemaking actually started.

See, in all of Michael's meticulous planning, he had forgotten to account for one thing – his feelings. He had not planned that he might grow to care for Edith beyond a physical level, that he wouldn't be able to just toss her aside. Michael was not prepared for the sensation of _her_, the sensation of not just another conquest, but of _her_ lying beneath him. It totally dismantled his self control. Far sooner than he had expected, he was _there_; and far sooner than he could remember his plan to pull out, _it _happened. And immediately after, he did remember, and he did pull out, and he fell back on the pillows next to her in shock and fear. He could acknowledge his plan had never been _perfect_, but he at least thought he would be able to take preventative measures to control _this._

He didn't tell her, but that night was the reason he left for Germany. Not to become a citizen and divorce his unstable wife, not so he could marry Edith. He left because he was scared. Scared of the effect she had on him, that he would never be able to rid himself of her. He was scared of how much it hurt already to leave. And probably most importantly, he was scared that she was pregnant. He was too afraid of leaving once she confirmed his fear, so he left before she could calm it. He didn't want to be father, he _couldn't_ be a father. So he fled. A selfish coward.

* * *

The night the paper entered her life, Edith was at Downton enduring the miserable monotony she had her entire life. Pretending the dinner conversation topics mattered. Pretending there wasn't a knife twisting itself deeper and deeper into her stomach every second because of her man's disappearance. A normal evening. Pretending.

Carson handed it to her. Crisp and clean and white. Blinding. And the letters. Typed and precise and black. Stark. Pregnant. She did not, _did not_ want to touch it, the cool stiffness chilling her to the bone as it sat featherlight on her fingertips. By the time she reached her bedroom door, it was lead. Folded neatly into the back of a book, it was not burned or soaked or ripped to shreds as she had desired. It was saved, though she did not know why. The words had already branded themselves onto her eyes.

* * *

Edith hadn't spoken a word of the night to anyone until she received the paper. Louise could see something had shifted between Edith and Michael, though. His name would be mentioned, and her eyes would mist – just for a second – as if seeing a memory instead of her teacup. Then they would clear and she would continue on as normal. Louise didn't ask. She put it down to love, but she did notice.

Their tearoom and their table at their time, Edith offered Louise a list. It was the easiest way to tell her. The list was three items long: _1. I am pregnant. Michael. 2. I am going to raise my child myself. 3. They will not grow up overlooked and second best. They will be loved. _Louise sat silent, though not stunned. She sat and thought, digesting the information she had been given and deciding which words would help her friend most effectively. It was a long time before she settled. In that time, neither of them moved. They barely breathed.

Three words. The beginning of a plan, of a new life. _Move to London._ It was Edith's turn to be silent. _Move to London, get a flat, a job, and raise your child._ Louise leaned forward intently and took the stony hand attached to the stony woman. _Edith, be happy. _The first battle in a war Edith would be fighting her entire life had not yet begun. She was aware of this war, and she was afraid. A determination fueled by fear sat in her stomach like smoldering coals awaiting to be kindled to flame. But there was something else there, too. Something that collected in the corner of her eye and dragged itself down her cheek, melting away the stone. Hope.

* * *

_Author's note: I owe an infinite amount of thanks to my beta team (__**TheBenBen**__,__** girliestarkid**__, and Juno), without whom this chapter would not be here. I struggled a lot with this chapter, mostly because it was something I didn't particularly want to write about, but it was necessary to get through. *sigh* I'm mostly glad to be done with it. Okay, on a happier note, the rest of the chapters will *crosses fingers* be easier/more fun to write than this one._

_Hopefully I'll have another chapter up for you soon, but fair warning: I start yet another grueling year of high school in a week, and finding time to write is going to be a challenge. But I don't see myself giving up entirely until at least January ;)_

_I think I've rambled enough for today. Go check out my betas' stuff, and please, leave me a review._

_–helladella_


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